


A Bitter Goodbye

by Azdaema



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Hogwarts Founders Era, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-04-30 22:34:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14506926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azdaema/pseuds/Azdaema
Summary: A look at Salazar's departure from Hogwarts, as seen through the lens of a Godric/Salazar relationship.





	A Bitter Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> There's no way Godric and Salazar didn't know about their ideological differences from the very beginning—neither quintessential the Gryffindor nor Slytherin would lie about their beliefs or down-peddle them to accommodate others. But _despite_ this, they were _incredibly_ close for a long time. The issue wasn't a deal-breaker... until, eventually, it was. This is an exploration of that—what did it look like, what did it mean, what was finally the straw that broke the camel's back?
> 
> I've been working on this on and off for months now. I'm not sure it's complete yet—the ending isn't quite what I want it to be—but I think it's as complete as I'm realistically going to get it. So here's to posting stuff, and not hiding it away forever, incomplete and abashed.

Salazar rides across the ridge, the wind buffeting his cloak. Sometimes it seems to be shoving him forward, away from the school, and sometimes driving him back toward it.

It makes him wonder if this wind is spelled, and the spellcaster has an undecided mind. He hopes so. He hopes it's Godric doing it, but he knows passive-aggressively spelling the wind like that isn't Godric's style. No, if this is anyone's doing, it's Rowena's.

That she might still care enough to do something like this warms his heart.

 _What will Godric tell her?_ he wonders. _Will he say it was partly his fault? Or will he put in all on me?_

Even if he does, Rowena won't believe it. She's smarter than that, _better_ than that. She won't blindly take Godric's side, he knows that much. Neither will Helga—she's too kind and too loyal to turn on him like that.

But then again, only this morning he believed the same of Godric.

* * *

They'd had the same argument so many times over.

Godric would say they couldn't just abandon muggle-born mages. That they were _their_ people too, regardless of birth, and that they owed it to them to take them in and teach them.

Salazar would say that training them did the muggles' children no favors in the long run—once they returned home, their muggle neighbors would never allow them a solid night's sleep without rousing them, hounding them with pleas: Come fix my cracked pot, my leaky roof, my broken life. Muggles were nice as long as they could use you for the powers. The moment you said no, the moment _couldn't_ do what they ask, or the moment they become too jealous, they would turn on you. Often armed. It was kinder, truly, for Godric to leave the children as he found them.

But what if they _didn't_ return to their muggle villages, Godric would counter. What if they stayed with their wizarding peers for the rest of their lives?

Then they were just watering down the gene pool and bearing squib children, and that helps no one, Salazar would respond. Did Godric care nothing for their magical lineage?

Muggle-borns could become powerful magicians, Godric would say.

Mayhaps, but who ever heard of one being a Seer, a Metamorphmagus, a Parselmouth? These traits were common among the true wizarding families and so very rare among those with any muggle blood. How could Godric not see the significance of this? Their magical lineage was _more_ than just being a wizard. Was it because Godric _himself_ was just a wizard that he took this stance? Could Salazar only understand because _he_ was a Parselmouth? Was Godric _jealous_ , and in his jealousy, did he want to tear the rest of wizardkind down to be on the same level as him?

Once he played the personal biases card, Godric would too. _Salazar_ was just _frightened_. Salazar was _frightened_ of muggles, _frightened_ of their children, and wanted everyone else to share in his fear, you _craven_.

I'm not _craven_ , Salazar would say, I'm _cautious_ , and rightfully so. When muggles attack wizards, _children_ were the most common victims because they couldn't control their magic. It lashes out when they're frightened or angry, and then muggles feel threatened—and then the children are unable to call on their magic to save them when the muggles are lighting the pyre. You're welcome to be as _brave_ and _suicidal_ as you please, Godric, but we're talking about our _school_ , where our pupils _live_. They're _children_ , Godric, and they can't all defend themselves yet, and it is _reckless_ and _selfish_ of you to endanger them like this.

Only a few of our students are truly children, Salazar. And what about the muggle-born children? They're out there, in muggle villages, and _they're_ in the most danger of all. You think the muggles won't turn on _them_ when _they_ are afraid and _their_ magic lashes out?

Muggles are less likely to kill a child from their own family than one from a _strange, wizarding_ family. They have some sense of protecting their own, even though _you_ clearly lack it, Godric.

 _Less_ likely, but it still happens. Will you really pay for our pupil's "safety" with some muggle-born child's life?

What would happen next varied. Sometimes Salazar would say yes: _Yes_ , he would sooner have some muggle's child be killed than one of _their students_. Then Godric would call Salazar heartless, and Salazar would call Godric the same. Godric would try to argue, and Salazar would begin listing their pupil's names loudly, ignoring Godric's attempts to talk over him.

Other times, Godric would call Salazar heartless, and then Salazar would get in close and _dare_ Godric to look him in the eye, to say that and _mean_ it. It wasn't a card he played often. In his anger, Godric probably _could_ say it, and _would_ , with at least the semblance of conviction. But Salazar never gave him that much time. At the phrase "look me in the eye," before Godric had time to speak, he would kiss him, forcing the words back down his throat. The question, always the question: _Will you choose your convictions? Or will you choose me?_

Other times Godric would push the issue. If it came down to it—if muggles came to Hogwarts because of the muggle-borns, or if the muggle-borns became dangerous thanks to their childhood indoctrination— _he_ would _defend_ the school, protecting their other pupils, protecting Salazar. Did Salazar not think he would? Did he not think he _could_? And Salazar would have to concede that he didn't doubt Godric on either charge. These times, it was _Godric_ who would lock their gaze, forcing the admission that neither really through so poorly of the other. _Godric_ who would kiss him, still a little angry, but wild and raw.

Not every round of the argument ended in kissing, though. Sometimes they would just fight to a bitter ceasefire, a draw that ended with both of them allowing the other to do as they wished in their house, with the requirement that they _keep it there_.

Rowena once asked Salazar if he thought either he or Godric would be so dead-set in their beliefs if not for each other. They were both stubborn, both prideful, both had to have the final word. Neither would ever give in or admit defeat. Had they unwittingly driven each other here, to this state of unwavering extremes? Salazar hasn't been willing to admit the truth in it to Rowena, but he wasn't so blind or as to deny the question's validity.

"We're just too different," he had said with a sigh to avoid giving a real answer.

Rowena had stared at him like he was an idiot. _"No,"_ she'd said. "You're just too _similar_."

Once, after a particularly nasty round, Salazar had seen the two witches talking together, and surely it had been Rowena repeating that same idea to Helga because afterward, Helga had come and asked him about it. She'd phrased it as, "Is this really about pupil acceptance policy? Or is it about winning?"

How did one response to a question like that—especially from someone like _Helga_. Rowena, he thought, could understand, at least in theory. She was prideful as well. But Helga...

And so he'd responded saying, "Just don't. Please, Helga. Just don't."

Whether he meant _don't ask_ , or _don't be like us_ , he didn't know.

* * *

The sun is sinking toward the west. His students would be gathering in the common room now, under the soothing lapping of the lake. He loved that sound. It makes it feel like there was a sentinel—like the lake was on guard, and watching over his pupils while he slept.

His pupils. The thought of them twists the ragged remains of his heart, wringing out more pain that he thought it could still hold.

He hopes Merlin will look out for them.

Merlin charmed his way into Salazar's heart the first day they met, when the eleven-year-old Welsh boy, tiny for his age, declared, "I want beard as long as yours when I'm older." In the years since, he had lined that spot in his heart with a plethora of other reasons as he became a powerful wizard. He is Salazar's greatest student.

His time and work at Hogwarts have not been all for nothing. No matter what else, training his apprentice had been a worthy accomplishment, and one he is proud of.

Merlin is seventeen this year. Though Salazar will always think him as that eleven-year-old little boy, he is a man grown. Salazar is sure he will look after his other pupils, at least for a while.

 _They're strong,_ Salazar tells himself, and he knows it's true. Perhaps it's vanity or favoritism, but he's always thought his students to be the strongest and most capable of the school. They will look out for each other. They will be alright. And besides, he _does_ have one last layer of protection designed for them.

_My children, I have secrets in store for you. It won't be in your time, but someday, when you need it most, you can call upon it. I have not left you alone and defenseless. I have made provisions for you. The sigil of my house will come and defend you, serve you._

But while that knowledge quiets his worrying mind, it does little to soothe his aching heart.

* * *

They'd never _meant_ to have houses. It had all begun innocently enough: With four professors, it was only reasonable to split the kids into four groups for teaching. And if they were doing that, why not let each professor pick those whom they _wanted_ to teach, who they thought they could connect with and teach _best_?

They were all teachers; they all knew the frustration of teaching a student they didn't understand, couldn't get along with, or simply didn't _like_. And they knew those situations were just as frustrating for the students. And so they decided this was for the best.

Rowena has started it, and it was hard not to resent her for it sometimes. She wanted to teach only the brightest students. It was understandable—Salazar too knew the joys of teaching a gifted young mage who deeply wanted to learn. But to hoard those students—not all of them, but many—all for herself...

When she taught _all_ of Hogwarts pupils, Rowena had a tendency to confuse students, leaving them lost and baffled. But her own hand-picked students adored her and seemed to _thrive_ under her, soaking up all the complexities and ambiguities that frustrated the others. And so Salazar, Godric and Helga had eventually agreed: Yes, Rowena could hand-pick the brightest kids with the greatest thirst for knowledge.

If Rowena could set down rules and restrictions like that, then so could he. Salazar declared that if the others wanted to bring muggle's children in, so be it, but _he_ would not teach them.

It had surprised Salazar how easily Godric had agreed to this. He'd said that _he_ would still bring in muggle-borns, and _he_ would still teach them. But if Salazar didn't want to, he didn't push the issue.

The quick, easily concession had surprised him. It hadn't even been a fight. And since it was not a fight, neither of them had lost. Salazar wanted to ask why he accepted it so easily. Did Godric think it would be better _for the muggle-borns_ if Salazar didn't teach them? Did he respect Salazar's opinions enough allow this type of divergence, if they were spitting up the students into groups anyway?

That night he went to Godric's chambers. When they were lying abed, he almost asked Godric why. Almost. But he didn't. He decided, in the end, he'd rather not know.

Godric took all the muggle's children as his own students. Salazar knew the real reason Godric liked them so much had nothing to do with _giving them a chance_ or _accepting them into the wizarding community_. Godric liked them because the _type_ of muggle-borns who would leave their homes and come study as a wizard's pupil in the wilds of the highlands were the _type_ of students he liked best _regardless_ of birth. It required more nerve and daring on the part of a muggle's children to come to Hogwarts in the first place, and he liked them for _that_ reason.

Sometimes Salazar wondered about another possible reason: Were Godric's "muggle-borns"—at least some of them—really his bastard children? None of his dozen-odd students really looked much like him, but that didn't mean anything—they could take after their mothers. It would go a long way toward explaining why he was so fond of them, so protective of them, why they were magical, and _how_ Godric managed to convince their mothers to let him take their children to a castle of wizards the middle of nowhere to train them.

Then again, Godric _could_ be very convincing, as Salazar knew better than anyone. _Don't let jealousy get the better of you._

* * *

The sun disappears beyond the horizon. By now, super will be being eaten in the Great Hall. While classes and dormitories are sectioned into the four groups, the Great Hall is the one place pupils can mix freely. He and the other founders sometimes worried that the students might just end up dividing _themselves_ , but, while _some_ groups from each house _did_ sit together, by and large that seemed not to be the case.

The pupils would notice his absence from the high table. What would Godric tell the students, if they asked where he was?

He hasn't brought any food with him, and he isn't willing to summon any from the castle—to need anything from them. So Salazar pulls his cloak tighter around himself and continues on, pretending conviction and moral fortitude can fill an empty stomach any more than it could fill an empty heart.

* * *

He stops at the edge of the ravine, and turns around for one last look, in the fading light, of the school he has poured the better half of his life into.

It _has_ been the better half of his life, even now, knowing how it ends. He remembers the day they first came here. They'd come up this very ravine, Rowena in the lead, her hair flying out behind her and snapping in the wind like a banner. He, Godric, and Helga had caught up with her when they reached the top, and they all stopped for a minute to let their horses rest.

"There," Rowena had said, pointing to the far shore of the loch which spread out before them in the afternoon light, shining like a burnished mirror. She'd said it with such conviction, and when she'd turned around to face them her face had been so alight, that none of them ever even thought to question her.

They waited a while longer, but their poor tired horses were still breathing heavily. And so they'd walked the rest of the way on foot, still following Rowena. By the time they reached the site of their future school, the sun had hung low and red in the sky.

There had been a ring of stones there, on a low knoll. When they stepped inside the circle, they could all _feel_ the magic in the air. Between the two tallest stones was the setting sun, like a fire in a hearth.

"Rowena," Salazar had asked, "is today the solstice?"

Rowena had thought a moment. "We've been traveling seven days," she said, half to herself, then counted quickly under her breath. "Aye, I think it is."

"This is the place," Helga had said simply, and looked at Rowena with utter adoration, as if these stones—as if the setting sun itself—had all been her doing. She'd grabbed Rowena's hands, spun her around in a circle with a wild laugh of joy and triumph, and kissed her.

From that moment to now, how could things have gone so terribly wrong?

* * *

The four of them were in their sitting room off the Great Hall when Godric said it.

"I was thinking. Someday, they shall need a way to sort the students into the houses after we are all dead and gone.

Salazar looked up, confused.

"What if we took my hat, and enchanted it?" Godric continued.

Salazar stared at him. _"What?"_ What did the Great Houses have to do with the school?

"We would enchant it, to look inside the student's heads and determine in which of the four houses they belong."

Oh, he meant the ‘four houses of Hogwarts.’ Godric occasionally called their pupil groups ‘houses.’ Salazar had always taken it as a jest, and an expression of the parental affection they all had for their students. "Gryffindor's, Slytherin's, Hufflepuff's, Ravenclaw's?" Salazar asked now, just to make sure he was understanding Godric right. It sounded odd to use the students' monikers for the groups, like referring to himself in the third person.

Godric stared back at him, equally confused by Salazar's lack of comprehension. "Yes." He took off his hat and set it on the table, and continued on. "What if we enchanted this?"

"Surely you're jesting," Salazar said, looking to Rowena for support. But she merely looked at the hat thoughtfully, with that faraway look in her eyes that Salazar knew meant she was considering logistically what magic might be used to accomplish such a thing.

Godric frowned. "I assure you, Sal, I'm not."

"Godric, there _will_ be no more Gryffindor's, Slytherin's, Hufflepuff's, Ravenclaw's when we are dead and gone."

"Yes, that is precisely the issue I am trying to solve." Godric sounded confused, as if he couldn't see how Salazar was missing this obvious point.

Salazar was equally baffled by Godric missing _his_ point. " ‘Slytherin's’ mean ‘Slytherin's students’. When I am dead, I will _have_ no more students. I hope some new wizard—or witch," he added, nodding politely to Rowena and Helga, "—will come to Hogwarts and teach students in my place. Perhaps Merlin," he said thoughtfully. "That boy would be a great master. Though I rather also hope he has greater things in his future than just staying here."

"And what of your students' solar, and their dormitories?"

"...what _of_ them?"

"Who will use them? Where will the future students stay?"

Salazar starred. "I don't know—I can only hope that the future professors of Hogwarts are capable of _assigning quarters for the students_ without us making plans for it decades before."

"Surely you've noticed the kids work harder when they're competing with each other."

"Only because _you two_ play out your own rivalries through them," Helga pointed out. Rowena gave her a look, the _here they go again, don't feed the fire_ look. Godric and Salazar, in their growing anger, paid her no heed. They always tried to leave Helga and Rowena out of their spats, if they could. And neither wanted to respond to Helga's claim; they both knew the truth in it.

"The number of students is only growing, Salazar, and Hogwarts will _continue_ to grow after we are gone. We cannot just throw them all together and expect one teacher to teach them all."

"Of course not, but if you truly think the future administrators of the school will be unable to divide the students into classes without an enchanted hat, then Hogwarts is doomed! If you _truly_ believe that, then you should go ahead and have it arranged for the school to be closed when you die! Me, I have more faith in our pupils. I think they will continue to uphold Hogwarts ever after we are long gone."

Godric stared back at Salazar, dumbstruck. "Salazar, I've _seen_ your students—seen the fraternity between them. They're like a _family_. So are the Gryffindors. Are you really claiming you don't see that? Or that it's not valuable? How could you not want that for future students?"

"They _will_ have that. Do you know how?" Salazar lowered his voice conspiratorially, as if what he was about to say next was some great secret. "They'll _befriend one another._ "

" _Your_ pupils already _have houses_ —they're from powerful families in the wizarding world, families who can support them. Many of mine _don't_."

Salazar scoffed. Godric barreled on.

"They don't _come_ from wizarding houses, but they _need_ one. _Everyone_ needs a house in our world. Gryffindor House is their only chance for that."

"Gryffindor _House_ now, is it? As if they were _kin_? Then again, maybe they _are_ —bastard half-siblings."

Godric blinked at Salazar, confusion momentarily replacing anger. _"What?"_

He had misstepped; Salazar knew it the moment he said the words. He might question the paternity of Godric's pupils but he rarely said anything. Jealousy was a weakness, and _speaking_ of it seemed to grant it credibility somehow. Even if it _was_ true, _that_ was on Godric. He refused to _validate_ the idea—to admit that he had even considered that he might not be enough to keep Godric from wandering.

So Salazar skipped over the matter. "Your students _do_ have families, houses! You're proposing the creation of an entirely new type of ‘house’ with the assumption that the world will just accept it? You think you can model the wizarding community in your image—you think that if make your students close, call them ‘Gryffindor House,’ maybe give them your sigil, then they'll turn into House as if they were blood kin! And you think that will be enough to turn them into proper witches and wizards." Salazar spread his hands wide. "You play the savior, and the wizarding world rolls over to accommodate your new order without question. You're more arrogant than anyone I've ever met, Godric, and more egotistical too. You would have whole _generations_ of muggle-borns bearing your surname, calling you their champion? You always have to be the hero, don't you—even after you're dead. It's not enough for you to be one of the _four_ founders of Hogwarts—no, _you_ have to be the _sole_ founder of your own _house_."

* * *

It is getting dark now, and the stars are starting to come out. The wind has died down, and is less persistent for the moment. Salazar pushes back his hood and tips his face up toward the sky.

The first constellation he sees is Leo, the great lion, shining and proud, spread across the stars.

_Oh Godric. Why can't you leave me be?_

Is this how it will be for the rest of his life—forever seeing Godric in metaphors he need not see? Let the lion just be a lion, or better yet, let the stars just be stars.

* * *

They'd stood in the Front Hall. Salazar had given him a long, final look, then a single short half-nod. "Farewell then, Godric. I'll see you in your dreams." He wanted to kiss him then—leave him with his lips searing and mind haunted—but he knew if he did now, he would lose the nerve. And so Salazar simply pulled up the hood of his traveling cloak and took the first step toward the great oaken doors.

He watched out of the corner of his eye as Godric turned his back. The fury and hurt rose in him, boiling together in a poisonous mixture that was what he needed to walk with angry conviction—or at least the semblance of it.

_Turn around, Godric._

He saw the back of that grey-streaked auburn head move slightly. He did not turn his head, but Salazar could tell he was tempted. And so he kept walking.

_Call my bluff. Please, Godric. We'll compromise again. You know we can, we've done it half a hundred times._

The great wooden doors were getting close now, but Salazar still saw when the muggle's child, the little student of Gryffindor's, peeked out around a doorway at the back of the Entrance Hall. So did Godric.

_Please, Godric. Say the word and I'll stop. Please. Choose me. Want me more than your morals. Want me more than being right. You know I've done it a hundred times for you._

Godric kept his eyes trained on his new pupil and did not turn his head as Salazar crossed the threshold, and the last of his footsteps faded into echoes.

_What about everything you ever said about loyalty? After decades, is this really how it ends, Godric—you choosing the child, a new student you hardly know yet, over me?_

Yes, it seemed. It was.


End file.
